I couldn’t breathe.
The journal trembled in my hands.
To my daughter, Sienna.
I read the words again.
And again.
They didn’t change.
“This isn’t possible.”
My voice sounded distant, even to me.
“My mother is…”
The sentence died on my lips.
Was.
The woman who had raised me had died when I was fourteen.
She was my mother.
Wasn’t she?
Lucien stepped beside me.
“Sienna.”
“I need a minute.”
My eyes never left the journal.
I slowly opened the first page.
The handwriting was elegant.
Steady.
Almost… comforting.
If you’re reading this, then someone has finally told you my name.
My heart pounded.
I don’t know how old you are now.
I only know that I have loved you every single day we’ve been apart.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
No.
This had to be fake.
It had to be.
“My
